


In the Woods Somewhere

by WelpThisIsMyLifeNow



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), F/M, Horrortale Papyrus (Undertale), Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Security Guard Reader, i had some spooks on that job, not me seriously but i did, so spooks for my fav spooky bois, thoroughly self insert, who would ever think that I could be a security guard?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow/pseuds/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow
Summary: What do the woods hold for you?--------A fic inspired by the Hozier song of the same name, as well as totally self-indulgent piece about my time as a security guard.
Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Comments: 22
Kudos: 93





	1. When I first saw you, the end was soon.

You were in the woods somewhere.

Your head was on fire, skin wrapped tightly in a clinging, dripping sweat. 

You’d been here for hours, stumbling through the darkness.

You were screaming. It had started off sensible—of laments of despair, in repeat—a mourning keel, reverberating into the blackness of the woods around you. The night hummed in return, a coiling buzz of watchful depth as you lost yourself further, your words and path alike losing all direction.

The heat within you grew—whether from your body’s protest of poison, alcohol, or grief; you weren’t sure—and the darkness curled deeper inward, crawling over your vision until all became black.

When you awoke, it was still dark. The coolness on your brow told you that your fever was likely broken, though the world was still piecing together sluggishly, only in parts. Slowly, achingly, you raised yourself from where you fell on the forest floor. Rocks and hardy brush stung like spiking static against your palms. Your eyes raised upwards, and you saw that the moon still hung high above you, not _too_ far from where your mind last remembered it.

You felt like you were having to push your thoughts through cotton, but they at least were sensible, logical thoughts; whatever delirium you had been in was fading. _Damnit._

You closed your eyes, unable to meet the gaze of the moon, and said a small prayer _(to who, you didn’t know)_. 

_Let me not feel this. Please. I can’t go on like this anymore._

You attempted to raise yourself to your feet, your muscles jelled and only _barely_ under your control. You got one foot up-

An awful, almost inhuman noise filled the air, choking your movement.

You heard a scream in the woods somewhere.

In the next beat of consciousness, you realized you were running towards the sound. The scream sounded again—and your legs, jilted and alien beneath you, picked up speed. Was this your own scream, coming back to you? You had nothing on your person, no way to stop the source, no way to protect or attack—but halting your steps felt unthinkable. 

You continued your run, your hands empty.

After some distance, you were worried you were lost-

There was a whimper, just to your left. 

You turned, and sitting among the bushes was a fox. you looked around for a moment, confused— _where is the person—_ but then it hit you.

A _fox’s_ scream. At first, you cursed yourself; of _course_ no one was out here but you. The trail here had been nearly impossible to get up to to begin with, and you’d walked for _hours_. You should’ve known-

Your thought cut short as a glint of moonlight, passing between wind-fluttered trees, revealed the scream had not been unheeded. 

As you peered closer, you realized that the fox was near death. It’s hind was utterly lame—injured to the point of exposed bone, streaks of dark, night-blackened blood trailed behind it, showing where it had dragged itself for cover. The trail wasn’t long; it must have been running, then given up out of blood loss. It looked at you, its eyes pained, and protesting, and afraid. It was shaking. 

You spoke no words. It made no sound.

You realized its eyes… they looked like your own. 

You read the message easily.

_Let me not feel this. Please. I can’t go on like this anymore._

Your body was sick, but your mind was numb. It felt impossible, but just as impossible not to do. 

You picked up a stone. You would end its pain.

You raised it up-

When your mind clicked. Instinctual, or logical, or just subconscious, the thought finally came-

_What, in this forest, could have possibly done this? What could have caused this kind of wound? How large were its teeth-_

You realized _new_ eyes were watching you.

You felt it before you saw it. You weren’t, honestly, sure what you saw at all. 

The creature lunged. In a confused, disoriented moment, you saw _something—_ impossibly large teeth, a flash of bright red (maybe blood, under the moonlight), a growl so fierce it ripped terror straight from your heart-

You didn’t stick around to find out more. You turned and ran, a primal part of your mind taking over as your body propelled itself to _escape_ . You ran, and you ran, and it felt like the forest was running with you—you swore you could see the desperate flapping of wings, and saw _deer_ fleeing between the trees. Whatever was after you, it was like danger incarnate: so deeply projecting deadly fear that it went beyond communication. It roared, and the earth itself trembled.

You ran, and you ran, and you ran. You ran to save a life that you’d given up. You clutched onto your life, held it so tightly in your throat that it was hard to breathe. In that moment, all memories of your sincere prayer were forgotten.

Replaced, instead, by a memory-

A knowledge of _something_ in the woods out there. 

Later, when the world was safely lit by dawn, parts of you wondered if it had been a dream. But you knew. You _knew_. You bore that knowledge for the next few years. You moved on—you _moved,_ just to distance yourself—but the weight of what you saw never left you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> I hope you like this weird little thing I've created. It's one of a few projects I started after finishing my main fic; I love the song, and thought it fit perfectly with our boy (and halloween!). If you like it and would like me to continue sending this your way, please let me know in the comments below! 
> 
> The second chapter will be posted right away, as this is more of an teaser to feel out how interested people are. Happy spooky season, everyone :')


	2. To Bethlehem it slouched, and then...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get into things properly.

It was weird, the way the world bounced back into place. One minute, it seemed like the universe itself had ground to a halt—a flood of monstrous beings to the surface, half-starved and crazed, proof of the existence of souls and magic, and a recovered history of atrocious genocide of an entire race—and the next minute, it all just kind of… resumed its normal pace. The streets were a lot more colorful, sure, if not tenser—but that, too, soon melted away.

Monsters had come at a good time in humanity, politically speaking. Diversity—within the human race, that is—had been making some major steps in various governments around the globe. When the monsters broke, the world was already in momentum for positive change—and they became the symbol of the oppressed _finally_ getting some freedom and equality. Sure, there were certainly some issues here and there—a few incidents of unjust arrests, discrimination cases, and the like—but the pressure from the government down had been so strong, racist acts were at an all-time low. 

Even if they did look a bit… off-putting, at first, their transition was decently smooth, all things considered.

Monsters had started to filter into your area after a few years. Like a crawling tide, the influence of these new members of society had slowly started to seep into the local shops and scenery around you. You, personally, couldn’t have been more pleased. Sure, you hadn’t personally _met_ a monster yet, but you had no doubt from what you’d seen that they were just like you and the rest of humanity—trying to eek out a life with a bit of happiness attached. Other than the occasional self-reminder not to stare at a particular individual on the street, your life was largely the same.

You were moonlighting as a security guard for a local university. A lot of your friends had laughed at the idea— _you_ , a security guard? Although you had a small amount of spitfire and sturdy physical form on your side, you were about as intimidating as a field mouse to a cat. 

You argued that’s why you made the _perfect_ security guard—you were good at disarming people, deescalating them in their various states. That line of thinking had sold you in the interview. The job was an easy, no-contact one—look pleasant, but official, and report to the _actual_ campus law enforcement if anything serious happened. More security theater than anything else.

You were stationed in the tall, multi-floored library on campus. Your job was _incredibly_ easy, if not to the point of being mindless—walk around, checking in at various waypoints on each floor each hour. The task itself took you about a half hour (it was a _big_ library), even with you sprinting through the final floor’s waypoints, located in the creepy-ass basement that held the archives and maintenance area. The rest of your hour was spent at the front desk, answering one of the same three questions over and over ( _Where are the bathrooms? What time do you guys close? What time do you open back up tomorrow?)._ No one ever fussed or caused issues at your time of night—just a steady stream of tired, desperate students flowing in and out.

You didn’t have to turn on your brain at all, which made it nearly the perfect job while you did your internship for school—the only bad part being the location. Your internship was, on a good day with little traffic (of which there was usually plenty) a good 45 minutes from your home. Your night job was also 45 minutes from your home— _in the other direction_. If it wasn’t for your constant barrage of insomnia, the job would have been thoroughly impossible. But for you—with a little persistence (and _a lot_ of caffeine), you managed. 

You’d just woken up from your second sleep for the day (two hours and forty-seven minutes exactly—you, several weeks into both jobs, had your routine down to a science at this point) and were sprinting through your morning routine. Your uniform had been pressed and starched to military standards. Managing to save a few minutes in your particularly speedy hustle, you decided to skip your typical drive-through run and instead go inside for your caffeine fix (and maybe even, dare you say—treat yourself to a snack from one of the aisles?). You weren’t one to usually dabble in treats, as you currently had a pretty strict budget—but _one_ in a while couldn’t hurt. Much.

You selected your choice with all the delicacy of a rare jewel, deciding a slice of pizza and a five hour energy would be your meal of kings for the evening. You moved through the line slowly, your mind adrift to the night ahead, brain already shutting off for the evening. Upon getting your meal (they housed the pizza slices in cute little triangle boxes— _what an age we live in_ ), you took your things and went out the door, ready to dine in the comfort of your car’s AC-

-and you directly smacked into someone. You dropped… _you dropped your pizza! No! Crisis! ALERT ALERT ALERT-_

“ _ugh,_ ” came the voice of someone in front of you. You looked up— _and up, and up_ —to a _massive_ barrel-chested monster. They appeared to be humanoid-skeletal in nature, though it took you a solid second of shock to recognize that—their skull looked like it was caved in, and with a lone, stoplight-sized iris hanging in a black socket, they looked as far from human as you could imagine. They didn’t look pleased, either, despite a grin on their face.

“S-sorry!” you murmured, embarrassment coiling around your soul. _Fuck, the first time I meet a monster and I’m spilling pizza on them._ You looked, assessing the damage—but, surprisingly, there was nothing on their slightly haggard clothes. You, however, had a full-on grease and sauce stain on the freshly-starched breast of your uniform, _right_ by the badge. _Perfect_. _Well, luckily, I have another-_

You were interrupted mid-assessment as they leaned down, their grin turning _mean_ as they moved closer to your eye level. 

“‘s-sorry?’ ... ya bump into a guy, and ya apologize? is that really the best human security has to offer?” he mimicked. You blinked, startled at his mocking tone. “...nah, little morsel like you couldn’t be security.” You realized his words were coming out slow, like he had to drag them from his mind to his mouth. To be fair, with how large he was, it would be a long way down. “...you a stripper, or somethin’?”

A blip of anger flashed through your mind for a moment, but you quickly snuffed it. _Alright. Understandable that a monster would be angry with humans, but that doesn’t give him the right to be downright rude._ Still, you _were_ in uniform and representing your company. You decided to let this one pass. 

“I’m flattered you’d think someone would pay me to take off my clothes, but no. I’m just a security guard.”

There was a beat of silence. The blazing red light in his socket shrunk ever-so-slightly, like a camera lens adjusting into sharper focus. _Ohgod is he more upset humor usually works but maybe that was somehow too critical-_

He then chuckled, his voice low, rumbling. It only made you more nervous.

“...go on then.”

You stared, wondering if the terror in your brain had stalled your comprehension. _Go on then? With what? Is he giving me permission to leave?_

“Uh… Alrighty then. Have a nice day.” You took a step back before swooping down to get your pizza, the cardboard container leaking sauce. Your eyes flickered embarrassedly to the skeleton before you. “Guess I’ll have to toss this.” 

_If I didn’t have a stranger watching me, I’d totally eat this bad boy anyway on the spot. Oh, well. Maybe I can see if it’s salvageable when I get to work._

You scampered around the monster, giving him a wide berth as you moved to your car. By the time you got inside, you could see his trailing figure was already lumbering into the convenience store. 

_Welp, so much for my first time meeting a monster._

Placing the smashed pizza box on your dash, you hefted a quick sigh at your car’s clock that displayed the quickly diminishing extra time before work. _Right. Good thing I come prepared._ Sticking an arm into the hoarder’s den that was your back seat, you pulled out a carefully folded second shirt, setting it on your passenger seat before beginning to unbutton your stained one. You’d have a few creases in your uniform, but you supposed it was better than a pizza stain.

You changed, muttering a quick thankfulness to the universe that your uniform’s shirt was too thick to get grease on the tanktop you had on underneath. Before buttoning up (not wanting to risk re-spillage), you opened your pizza box, stealing a small bit of cardboard-adhered cheese and taking a bite. No one saw that. _Probably_ _._

You finished buttoning up and left the parking lot with only work and the long night ahead on your mind. 

Sans was _not_ having a great day. 

In his final dreams of what living topside would’ve been like—right before he gave up any hope of that happening—it wouldn’t have been like _this._ He and Paps had planned to live out their lives in the woods, surviving on wildlife ~~and the occasional wandering human~~ , interacting with as few people as possible. Now Tori had gotten him mixed up in some stupid project for the stupid human government, like he was some kind of dog expected to sit, beg, and bark when told to.

Toriel had said it’d help. When he’d asked ‘with what?’, she didn’t have an answer. 

Still, when Papyrus had suggested, quietly, that he agree to the project… Well, there was no saying no to that, was there? He’d never admit it, either, but it was nice to have a little cash around; as much as he was fine eating _anything_ in the woods, having an apocalypse-sized storage of canned goods at the ready helped his constantly burning anxiety. _Plus_ , Pap seemed really happy to have access to fresh, hard-to-get ingredients. 

And, as tough as things were, a happy Pap was worth it.

That certainly didn’t mean he had to play nice, though. Since coming topside, he’d seen the way— _countless times_ —that humans in positions of authority got off on bullying monsters whenever they thought they could get away with it. The only way Sans got by without becoming the first monster to be arrested for murder was to imagine their tortured screams as he slowly stripped the meat away from their bones-

He’d been nearly totally lost to one such fantasy when he spotted _you_. 

Walking out of the convenience store, badge glinting in the light as you walked with food in your hands—pizza, by the smell. _Food_ that _you_ bought with the money you made, _paid_ to lord over and harass innocent monsters—it was enough to make him sick. As much as Pap would’ve given him those disapproving eyes if he knew… Sans had to do _something_.

So he played a small prank. _Miles_ away from the type of prank he did underground, just a little something to interrupt your day. He let you think you bumped into him—which actually wasn’t the case, as he’d never let some scummy human touch him. He just moved the gravity of the box you were holding for a blink, causing you to stop suddenly and the pizza to smoosh against you, which you then dropped. Nice.

He was ready for you to _flip_ , to threaten to arrest him, to curse out monsterkind-

But instead, you apologized, timidly. 

For some reason, this made him _more_ angry. What was it, your first day on the job? Or… was he truly so fucked up-looking at this point that the fear overwhelmed your entitlement to power? 

He felt an acidic hate pool in his jaw, deciding to poke at you a bit. _make it angry, and then its colors will show._

So he poked. For a moment, he thought he was triumphant—he saw a brief flash of anger in your eyes—but it quickly dissolved. 

And then, you made him laugh. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that genuinely, even if it was more out of shock than anything else. 

_huh._

His guard wasn’t down by any means—he figured the next statement out of your mouth would be issuing a ticket for harassment, or something—but knew, at least, he wouldn’t be getting the rise out of you he was hoping for. Accepting this, he urged you to just get it over with—but, instead, you merely picked up your flattened box. 

For a fraction of a second, he was pleasantly surprised—until he heard you mention throwing out your food.

_tch. wasteful. food didn’t even touch the ground, safe in its box, and the human isn’t gonna touch it. typical._

Settling back into his distaste, he walked into the store, his thoughts quickly drifting away from you. He was focusing back on the task at hand—some nice snacks for himself, and some small things for Pap—when, for whatever reason, his eyes were drawn to the motion through the window. He could see you, there, in your car, shuffling around— _were you undressing?_

 _holy shit, was i right about the stripper thing?_ —Wait, no, you were putting another shirt on now. You paused once it was over your shoulders, reaching over to something on the dashboard. He saw you lift something to your mouth—oh. You were eating the pizza after all.

He found himself momentarily mesmerized, even after you finished the bite. You resumed buttoning up your shirt, your hands making quick work of the task, shirt closing up over the curve of your chest-

Someone walked in front of his view outside, and he shook his head, attempting to dislodge the odd course of thought his mind had taken. He quickly rerouted himself, moving his mind back to what was important as he let all thoughts of you disappear.

_right. time for food._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> We meet our main players :') As before, please let me know if you're interested in reading more, and what you thought of it!


	3. It must've caught a good look at you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get to work.

There was a little time left to spare before work started, so you quickly ate as much of the pizza as you could scrape off the box. Figuring that would have to do for the time being, you quickly went inside, a sole lamplight dotting the long walkway from your car’s parking space in the staff area to the library itself. You _could_ have entered in the closest entrance—the maintenance door that led to the basement—but… _fuck that._ Sure, there were a few monster ghosts that were apparently fine, and not in the business of haunting anyone, but… _What if there are, like, ghost-ghosts that are more like human spirits and less nice?_

On one hand, the thought seemed a little ridiculous— _but on the other hand what if?_

Either way, the place had a bad vibe, so you spent as little time there as your job would allow—meaning you circumvented it in favor of the much more welcoming main entrance. The hum of darkness around you was slowly drowned out by the buzz of stark electrical lights as you approached. 

A couple of students were walking out as you approached, and they held open the door for you. _Technically_ they weren’t supposed to do that—the door had a card reader to ensure the library was used by students, staff, and registered users only—but you weren’t on the clock yet. No need to be a hardass. 

The library itself was pretty grand in its stature, although you wouldn’t necessarily call it _stylish_. One particularly chatty student had told you once that the entire campus had been designed by a guy that was later institutionalized due to some form of insanity. Allegedly, he’d designed the three biggest buildings—the rec center, the main classroom building, and the library—so that, when viewed from above, they’d look like three 6’s sitting in a triangle. Apparently he’d tried to put a string of sixes _everywhere_ —the outside sitting area was designed to look like, the curling pathways looked like it, you name it—all for the purpose of creating the place as a gift to Satan.

You sincerely doubted that, of course—that seemed like an awful lot of work just to please some demon daddy—but, whoever it was that designed this place, they definitely weren’t thinking of instilling a sense of homey welcomingness when they made the campus. All of the buildings were concrete—pure cool, stoney tan as far as the eye could see, inside and out. 

You’d visited a couple of the other buildings, but the library seemed to be _especially_ cold in its decorating. The place varied from massively open spaces—such as the entryway that your security desk sat in—to tight, cramped hallways and stairways; walking past someone in one of those likely meant your arms or knuckles would be scraping against the concrete walls. In the study areas, it seemed like they _did_ try to soften the place up with some deep red carpeting—likely to muffle the footsteps for those attempting to focus—but the rest of the place had equally cold and plain concrete flooring. As a security guard, it helped: if there was someone walking where they weren’t supposed to be, even the most carefully placed steps echoed. This—coupled with the fact that most of the internal rooms (like the group study rooms, the computer rooms) were walled with glass—made it nearly impossible to escape your notice if you were anywhere nearby.

People _actually_ tried hiding sometimes—students trying to find a place to bone down _(what was it about books that made some people so horny?)_ , or desperately trying to stay overnight to finish some projects. There were a _lot_ of nooks and crannies in the library, but luckily, the occurrence of people hiding was rare—and no one had escaped your notice yet.

You walked into that massive entryway, but bypassed the large wooden security desk, moving instead into the first floor’s main study area. Walking past the glass-walled head librarian’s office, you gave a wave to the woman inside—Natercia, a _slightly_ curt but still mostly pleasant middle aged woman—to let her know you were there. As usual, you saw her eyes flicker to the clock on her desk—despite your _always_ being at least ten minutes early for your shift, she still checked every night. Her smile and wave, though, was at least genuine as she returned the greeting.

She’d told your supervisor that you were the only one she liked—the only one that always showed up on time. Most of the security guards had to shift their positions, working different locations every night—but your promptness (and, more likely, your willingness to work such odd, late hours) had allowed you to keep this position for yourself. 

Occasionally, you’d have a partner—usually someone who needed to be trained, plus a few regulars—but, honestly, you preferred to be alone. As nice as it was to take a break from doing rounds every hour, you preferred the silence. Some of your coworkers were _extremely_ talkative, and… you just honestly didn’t have the energy to expend.

The silent nights, when you could just sit, and study, or browse on your phone and think—it was a nice way to recharge instead of sleeping.

You made your way back to your desk, moving to the locker that sat behind your station. You took out the walkie talkie, flashlight, and—your least favorite companion—the waypoint indicator. On every floor, a number of small, button-sized magnets were secured to the walls at various intervals, all of which you had to place your indicator against to let your boss know you’d been there. They’d clearly been placed by someone _much_ taller than yourself, as a few of them you had to jump up to properly place your responder to. _Guess they never figured someone as short as me would do security._

You placed your items on the desk before carefully hoisting yourself up on the tall, rolling chair that sat at the desk. The desk itself was tall, thick polished wood, and was massive—whoever decided on it probably thought it would look intimidating, but you felt it just dwarfed you. 

You sat at your post, going through the motions—making a note in the logbook of your arrival time, discreetly dicking around on your phone, pointing out the bathroom ( _it was literally twenty feet from your desk)_ twice—before the fifteen-minute mark into your shift hit, and you could safely assume you’d have no partner tonight. 

You breathed out a sigh of relief, officially shutting your mind off for the night. _Time to not think for the next five hours_.

You stood up, jumping off the tall seat before grabbing your tools. You put the walkie talkie on your belt and the flashlight in your pocket—you’d never actually had to use either—and kept the waypoint marker in your hands, at the ready for some marker-signaling action. You, in your usual route, made your way up the tight, winding staircase first—all the way to the top, sixth floor—and took a minute to catch your breath once you reached the stairwell. 

_Christ, you think doing this five times every day would get me in shape._ Once sufficiently back in breath, you reached up, touching your indicator to the sole marker on the floor. The top floor was constantly locked, for maintenance and storage only—so, thankfully, you just had this one to indicate you’d checked to make sure the door was locked. With a jiggle of the handle, you did just that—and then continued your typical route back down the stairs. 

For the next twenty five minutes, your brain was on utter autopilot, weaving your way through various bookshelves and around study-desk nooks as you made your way through the various indicators on all five floors. You then made your way to the restricted card-activated door, ready for the worst part, saved for last—the _basement_.

As out of shape as you were, you always _sprinted_ through the basement. Well… jogged. Fast-walked. Usually the first round of the night wasn’t so bad; the library still was busy, and—even if nobody was down here—just the _feeling_ of life above you helped abate the creepiness. There were a few rooms down here—mostly maintenance rooms, plus an archive—and the lights were automatic, meaning you had to step _into_ every darkened room before the lights would come on. Worst of all, at the very _end_ of the basement, so far away from the exit, was the last waypoint: on the side of a set of large, locked doors. 

These doors were your fucking _nightmare_. As large as they were, there was a _tiny_ gap between them—and they led to an underground maintenance tunnel. You didn’t know what was on the other side of the tunnel, but _fuck_ , you were glad you’d never find out. Even still, it was your _job_ to peer through the gap and make sure no one was on the other side. 

You’d had enough nightmares about an eye staring back at you through those doors to make your rounds _miserable._

Still, all things considered, the job wasn’t bad, and it was a small price to pay for being able to eat while in grad school. 

~~Running~~ _Efficiently walking_ your way through your final floor of the hour, you made your way back upstairs and towards your desk. Task complete, you went to put your items back on the desk, ready to go ready to kill time on your phone until your rounds started all over again-

“ _Adwoa!_ ” you heard being called. Like a switch, your brain flicked back on, brightening at the familiar voice calling your nickname. You instantly recognized it as one of the head administrators of the university—a Ghanaian man of about retirement age. During your contract signing, you’d become instantly endeared to him when you broke out the bit of Twi you knew after finding out where he was from. From that point on, he’d called you _Adwoa_ and you called him _Kofí_ —Akan nicknames based on the day you were born. You didn’t see him often, but it was always a delight when you did. 

“ _Kofí!_ ” you exclaimed happily, turning in the direction of the voice, “ _Maadwo yaa agya-_ ”

Your usual greeting got stuck in your throat as you spotted him.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._

Kofí was walking towards you, but he was not alone. 

That _giant fucking_ monster was there, taking lumbering steps next to him. The two of you locked eyes as the pair approached, and you saw clear recognition on his face, looking _just_ as unhappy to see you as you were him. You felt yourself break out in a small sweat, quickly putting on a mask of a polite smile as you ignored the instinctual urge to flee.

The two stopped in front of you, and Kofi gestured to the massive skeleton with a small motion of his hand. If he was as intimidated by the skeleton as you were, he didn’t show an ounce of it.

“ _Adwoa_ , this is Sans. He’s going to be using the archives for a special project.”

“Okay..?” you drawled questioningly, your eyes flickering between the comforting visage of your boss’s boss and the ~~absolutely planning to murder you~~ stare of the monster next to him. There were a lot of people coming in and out of the archives, but you certainly didn’t get introduced to them all. _Maybe it’s because he’s a monster? Or it’s his first time here?_ “Did you want me to show him to it, or…?”

“Well, that would be nice,” Kofí nodded. “Saves me from a trip down the stairs with these bad knees. But I really came to let you know he has permission from the dean to stay after the archive typically closes—until lockup, if he needs it.”

Your smile hardened, your customer service mask nearly cracking. _Great. Fantastic. Volunteered myself for extra time with him. Cool. Awesome._

“Sure… thing,” you agreed. Your eyes tried to send a screaming, begging message to your coworker, but the jolly man was totally oblivious—perhaps purposefully so, perhaps not—as he bid you two goodbye, turning around with a wave.

“ _Wo tiri nkwa!_ ”

You didn’t know what that one meant, but you weren’t comforted by it.

There was a long beat of silence as Kofi’s exiting steps echoed throughout the entryway. You risked a look up at his face—but, thankfully, he wasn’t looking at you, his eye focused on Kofi as he left. It was interesting, the way his iris would expand and dilate slightly; it was kind of like you could watch his thoughts as he had them-

But then he turned his focus to you. Jumping slightly, you quickly looked away—slightly abashed that you’d been caught staring, and guilty for doing so in the first place. _Really? Stop it, you know better._

“Uh, follow me, please. The door to the basement is just through here.”

Other than your request for him to follow you, the two of you remained largely silent as you moved through the library. It was _achingly_ awkward. As you went through the card-reader door and into the narrow stairway to the basement, he fell in step behind you—making your hackles rise immediately as you led him down the darkened stairwell. You knew you were being stupid—he probably felt just as uncomfortable as you did, and clearly meant no harm—but your body reacted without logic, heart beating faster in your chest.

Despite his large stature, he was a fairly silent walker; maybe if you focused on the sound of your own footsteps, you could forget he was there and chill the fuck out-

“...how was the pizza?”

His low voice caused you to jump mid-stride, and you lost your footing, falling forward- 

“Shit-!”

 _Just_ as your world began to shift decidedly downwards, you felt your body pause, as if your adrenaline had spiked so high that it froze time entirely. Your chest felt tight, and you wondered if you were having a heart attack.

“...fuck,” you heard him murmur. You watched as the world turned back in normal order—no, wait, that was _you_ moving, your position correcting on to the steps as if time had been reversed. 

_What the fuck what the fuck-_

Now on firmer footing, the tightness in your chest released. Your legs felt like jelly under the weight of your panic, but nonetheless, you forced your body to turn to the monster behind you.

Standing on a step above, you figured he’d look even more intimidating—but _he_ looked like the one afraid. His head was attempting to bury itself into the large swathes of fur that lined his hood, and it looked like… _sweat_ was pouring down his face.

“...i-i shouldn’t have… i didn’t-”

Realization clocked you.

“Did you… did you just save me with _magic_?”

He was silent, pensive, his eyelight expanding and contracting in a clear display of panic. He started to take a step backward-

“No, wait! Why do you look so—listen, _thank you._ That was amazing!” At this, his retreat paused, and you continued, looking at him earnestly. “I mean it; if you hadn’t intervened, I’d be paste at the bottom of the stairwell.” 

He stared for another moment, but then finally spoke. “...so... you’re not gonna arrest me?”

 _What? Why_ — _did we just go through the same thing, or did I momentarily go to a different reality? What the heck is he talking about?_

“What do you mean? What reason would I even _have_ to arrest-” 

With another cold slap of understanding, it hit you as you spoke: monsters were legally barred from using magic on humans _._ _Technically_ , he’d just done something illegal. 

_He really thinks I’d do that? After he helped me?_

“Okay, one: you saved my skin. I’d have to be the world’s biggest douchebag—pardon my French—to get mad after that. Two: I’m security, not police. I couldn’t arrest you if I wanted to.”

You could visibly see the confusion as the monster tried to process. “there’s... a difference?”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, running a hand through your hair, slightly frazzled. _That’s right; they know bits and pieces of the modern world from what fell underground_ — _but it’s not like movies take the time to differentiate this kind of stuff. I shouldn’t assume they had the same things… down there._

“Yeah, they’re not the same. I mostly just watch and report should anything ever happen—which it never _really_ does, because, y’know…” You vaguely gestured to the floor above you. “It’s closing shift at a library that you need card access to. Even if someone walked out with a computer, I’m instructed not to intervene—just call the police. I have no real authority, and if I’m being honest, it’s mostly for show.”

You waited patiently as the information processed. He then tilted his head, ever so slightly. 

“so... like a sentry?”

You blinked; the last time you’d heard the term was probably in school—or maybe some kind of video game. “Uh, yeah, I think so. I don’t think anyone’s seriously used that term since the middle ages—outside of the military, probably. But yeah, the equivalent of that.”

He continued his thoughtful gaze. As much as you were glad to be having a non-hostile conversation with him, you decided to turn and continue your descent, wanting to get the heck out of this stairwell. He moved along with you, the silence behind you finally not nearly as uncomfortable as it’d been. The moment you hit the landing of the basement, he spoke again—you wondered if it had taken him all that time to think, or if he’d been trying to avoid scaring you again.

“i was a sentry back home,” he said, his tone almost conversational. You pushed the door open to the basement, holding it open for him automatically. He awkwardly squeezed past you.

“Oh yeah?” You didn’t know quite how to respond to that; you’d heard monsters didn’t tend to like to talk about their experiences underground, but you didn’t want to sound uninterested, either. “Do you, uh, prefer doing research instead?”

The moment you stopped speaking, you knew it was a dumb question. _Do you prefer to hold a military position in a famine-stricken prison, or do you like reading?_ To his credit, he merely shrugged off the question.

“...guess i’ll have to _research_ into that and let you know.” 

You stared. _Was… that a joke?_

If it was, it was a weak one; hard to tell for sure. You gave the breath of a laugh anyway, and for a spark of a moment, he seemed pleased, as far as you could tell—his sockets seemed to crinkle at the edges. You realized it was the first time he seemed any kind of positive—or maybe, at the least, neutral—since you’d met him.

He followed you again—not quite behind you, and not quite next to you—as you moved through the creepy ass hallway of the basement. In your journey, you passed the large glass doors of the outside entrance you avoided going through every night. In the darkness, with nothing but a lone light revealing a pool of bland concrete that faded into nothingness, it looked like the perfect framing for a shot of a zombie to stumble into in a bad horror film. You shuddered, quickly ducking your head to force yourself not to look as you walked past.

“Here,” you said upon arrival at the archives’ entrance. The entire entrance wall of the archives was glass, easily allowing you to see if anyone was inside—currently ( _as per usual_ ), there wasn’t. The door, too, was pure glass—save for a metal panel in front of it with a card reader and pin pad. “You slide your card in here-” you swiped your card in demonstratively, “-then input the pin number. Every Sunday at 12:01 AM you should be e-mailed a new pin.” You entered in this week’s pin number: _29200419_ , and the door’s reader blinked a happy green before a manual lock buzzed open. This time you had the good sense to walk in and hold the door open, versus forcing him to squeeze pass you.

You watched him as he joined you inside, his eye scanning the room, that red light flickering back and forth in his socket. “If you don’t get an e-mail and you’re still expecting access, just come and see me or whatever security guard is working. As long as you’re on the list, they’ll give you it no problem.”

His stare moved back to you, and you felt frozen by it. Your hands fidgeted nervously on their own accord, and you did your best to still them. “Ah… You good, then? If you have any questions, you can-”

“i don’t have a card yet,” he interrupted. “the human that brought me here said it’d arrive in a week or so.”

“Oh,” you said, scratching the back of your head. _If Kofí had brought him here, it’s probably fine to let him in. I’ll just e-mail him afterwards to make sure._ “That’s fine. Just stop by my desk when you come in and I’ll let you down. If I’m doing rounds it might be a little bit, though, so my apologies for that.” 

You then pulled your phone out of your pocket, looking at the time. “Do you plan to always come around now? If so, I can make sure my rounds are finished before then.”

Putting your phone down, he was staring unblinkingly again. You wondered if he was having trouble with all of the information you were throwing at him at once. You noticed the light looked slightly… fuzzy at the edges?

“is your name really adwoa? that’s not what’s on your badge. and the other human told me to call him richard, not kofí.”

 _Do they not have nicknames underground?_ “Er, sorry, those are nicknames between him and I. I could see how that’d be confusing. You could stick to what’s on my badge, say ‘hey, you,’ whatever—as long as it’s not derogatory, I don’t mind.”

He gazed for a beat longer before seeming to relax—it was hard to tell, as his face didn’t move much from that unnerving grin—but his shoulder dropped slightly. He then nodded. “yeah. i’ll be here at the same time tomorrow.”

“Cool,” you said. _Man, he really must take a long time to think things out after all. I’ll have to keep that in mind._ “Let me know if you need anything. My rounds take about a half hour, so if I’m not there, just come back in a while and I should be at that desk. I also pass by here for my rounds, so you could also grab me then.” 

He said nothing, only continued to look at you. You figured this was as much of a goodbye as you were going to get. “Uh, happy researching!”

With that, you turned and walked out, your steps measured but fast. _Oof. Well, at least he doesn’t seem to actively want to murder me anymore. I call that a win, I guess!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This chapter is brought to you by the creepy ass tunnel in the basement of my local university. You'll haunt my nightmares forever. 
> 
> (I actually drew a little outline of that accursed basement floor, which you can find [here.](https://imgur.com/a/YBWkwLw)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone that read this (and especially the enthusiastic comments!!!). I wanted to say thank you by getting this next chapter out right away; I'm sorry I haven't responded yet, but I figure you'd all prefer to have this first! 
> 
> I hope y'all had a great halloween, and thanks for reading ❤️️


	4. Give Your Heart and Soul to Charity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see Sans's perspective, and then the rest of your day.

Sans was already _exhausted_. The amount of energy that he had to put to fuel the play-nice smile as he met with the various humans on the project was _staggering_. Even his normal visions weren’t working—instead, he had to switch to images of his brother. _think of how happy paps would be. you’ve endured worse, you can get through it._

By the time one of the humans had walked him over, he was doused with sweat from effort, his grin feeling like cracked glass, ready to shatter. He was _so close_ just to getting this shit finally started-

And then he saw that human that he’d fucked with earlier. 

_shit._

Resisting every urge to talk a step backwards into the void, he sat through the song-and-dance of introductions. When he finally got the stomach to look at you, you looked _just_ as unhappy to see him as he was you. _fantastic._

By the time you were leading him away, his mind was already at war with itself, torn between just throwing the whole thing out the window and going back home and attempts at rationalization. _it’s just the guard. after tonight, you can pop in and out without her noticing. ‘s fine, ya big lug. pap would be disappointed if you gave up so soon._

He was aware of you motioning to follow him, and he complied, trailing along behind you as you walked to a door with a card reader. You didn’t _look_ mad, more… uncomfortable. _hm. maybe i can use this to my advantage, make sure she stays off my back._

Formulating a plan as the two of you descended, he decided to lean in, prodding the bear a little bit to see if he could get that nervous reaction again-

A plan, perhaps, he should have thought through more thoroughly. 

You had already fallen out of his hand’s reach before he realized you were falling at all. In the next moment, unthinkingly, he reached out his magic-

His magic _actually_ worked, curling around your soul and righting you before fizzling out into nothingness.

You had _no_ idea how lucky you were.

He had _no_ idea how fucked he was now, though.

He fucked up. _He fucked up._ ** _He fucked up._ **

He should’ve just let you fall, should’ve never even _come_ here in the first place. Would you try to arrest him on the spot? Would he have to teleport out of here? Would his magic even let him?

Sparking, fizzling, defensive magic began to summon from his soul as he panicked. He watched as you turned to look at him, watched as you put the pieces together-

-And then you thanked him.

Once the situation was explained, he felt like an idiot. 

He _hated_ this. He might… he might not be as quick as he used to be, but he still knew he _wasn’t_ an idiot. Being on the surface, though, and not knowing all these stupid idiosyncrasies of human culture… it felt like he never had the chance to prove anyone otherwise.

If he had to give you any bit of credit—it at least seemed, for the moment, like you didn’t judge him for not knowing.

That wasn’t much—it was a low bar set, and most humans tripped over it easily—but, he supposed, you _might_ not be as bad as initially thought. At the very least, perhaps, your brief meetings wouldn’t be as dreadful as Sans had been fearing the next time he saw you.

Sans didn’t know whether it was the relief of the moment inspiring a good mood, or whether he was just distracted-

But, for the first time in a long time, he felt a pun at his teeth.

For the first time in a long time, he heard something resembling a laugh back. It was soft, more breath than humor—but still present.

That… was a nice feeling. Nostalgic.

Then—as per usual, trailing close behind any pleasant memory of _before_ —a painful stab shot through his soul. 

He rubbed his chest idly as he followed you, trying to bring himself back to the present. He came back just in time to notice you pass by a set of glass double doors, leading to the dark night outside—and he saw you visibly shudder, skin twitching like an agitated deer.

_...what was that about?_

Had… you caught his reflection in the glass? Did you not like the sight of him walking behind you?

It was hard to tell; other than that brief moment, you made no other signal that you were particularly disturbed by his presence. He watched as you talked about the pin codes—the sounds of your voice sitting in his skull without being really absorbed—and tried to decipher your expression.

_pupils not dilated, shoulders relaxed, breath steady—fear gone. huh._

You led him inside, and he surveyed the area carefully. After a moment—blast, yeah, there was a camera in the room, so no porting in. He probably should’ve expected that.

He turned to you to tell you about the card issue—and then caught sight of your badge.

It wasn’t the name the other guy had used. It wasn’t even _close_. 

Come to think of it, you’d called him something _very_ far from Richard as well.

…This wasn’t a set up, was it?

You weren’t… trying to d e c i e v e him, were you?

A _lot_ of people—monsters and humans alike—thought they could _lie_ to him, pull one over on him after the _incident_.

Oh, how _wrong_ they were.

He watched you carefully as you explained yourself—his senses reaching past physical, sensing out the _intent_ of your soul.

…And it seemed like you were telling the truth. 

But, more oddly than that, he felt something begin to tickle at the back of his skull. He realized it had been sitting there for the last few minutes—one whisper among the constant static of his mind, slowly getting louder.

Comprehension of your voice faded out as he tried to listen to the thought, the dial of his mind trying to hit the right frequency…

But, frustratingly, it slipped back away, sliding out of his grasp and into the haze of his thoughts.

It felt… felt like he was _forgetting_ something again.

When he came back out of it, he remembered what you’d asked him, and only distantly remembered to answer. You gave him a pleasant goodbye, then quickly left.

He couldn’t get himself together enough to say goodbye. He was _forgetting,_ always _forgetting,_ what had he _forgotten_ this time..?

He reached up, tugging at the crack in his skull, trying to reign himself back to center. A stark flash of pain rocked through his skull—sharpening the static, blinking back his focus to the present.

_…right. right. got a job to do, can’t let pap down._

The rest of your shift was, on the whole, rather boring—just as you liked it. The same questions, same sights, same route through the building several times over.

The only real deviation was your rounds in the basement. Instead of your normal sprint through the final floor, you forced your steps to be as slow and normal as you could possibly stand. It helped, a bit, knowing someone else was down here—not _completely_ , but enough. Usually, Sans was absorbed in some book when you passed—but, twice, he’d looked up, and each time you gave a friendly wave. 

The hell door with the gap was _still_ terrifying, but you endured it like every other night.

Eventually, closing time rolled around, and a stream of exhausted-looking students slowly filtered out of the various floors. As the official end of library hours hit—the front doors automatically locking to not let anyone else in—you began your last round of the evening to ensure everyone was out.

As usual, you had a few stragglers here and there that you had to shoo away—but no one, thankfully, put up a fight, quickly packing up their things and making their way to the exit. 

You made it to your final round—the basement—and checked the opposite, hell-door side first before making your way to the opposite end, where the archive sat.

To your surprise, you found it empty.

_Huh. Guess he must’ve left during one of my rounds. Ah, well, glad I don’t have to tell him to get out._

Yawning, you hit your final waypoint before making your way back upstairs, doing one final loop of the ground floor before putting away your waypoint indicator, radio, and flashlight. 

Some nights, Natercia would still be there by lock up, doing… whatever it was head librarians did at two in the morning. Tonight, though, she was gone—meaning it was just you left in the library. As usual, you spent the last few minutes putzing around on your phone, dutifully waiting until the clock struck 2:30 AM exactly to exit out the door.

You walked out into the night, cool fall air instantly prickling your skin as you stepped outside. Heading to your car, you made a mental note that it was time to start bringing the security jacket with you. 

You got into your car, music blaring to help keep you awake on the long drive home. The scenery around you changed, fading from the wooded, suburban area town that housed the university, to the hard, concrete lines of the city you lived in. You guided your car down the streets, the tenement houses slowly getting worse for wear—until you hit your street.

You lived in the infamous “flint” district of your city, rife with drugs, robberies, and the like; the building you lived in was one of the few left on your street that hadn’t been turned into a crack den or trap house. Most of those in the building—with the exception of your place—were old retirees, living off meager pensions, or those just on the cusp of retirement. The owner of the building was a gentle, frail old couple, Bob and Cheryl. You didn’t see them often, but on the rare occasions you were awake and had a second to spare, they would invite you over for a cup of coffee. You got a sense they might be a little lonely; it didn’t seem like their kids ever came around.

The condo unit you lived in was owned, actually, by your brother—and _technically_ , he wasn’t supposed to sublease, but Bob and Cheryl never made a fuss. They were good people.

Your two-bedroom condo was a sub-level unit, the windows in your living room and bedroom _just_ above the grass. This, actually, had been a blessing—when the heater to your unit had given out last year, the surrounding earth helped keep the heat in, helped keep you warm. 

Almost a year later, and it _still_ hadn’t been replaced. A new one would cost several grand—which your brother didn’t have, and _you_ certainly didn’t. Fortunately, you liked the cold just fine, and made due with space heaters and blankets. 

Unfortunately, your roommates suffered a bit, less appreciative of the cold—but they had both moved in _after_ that had happened, so they at least knew what they were getting into. 

First had come Grace—your sweet, quiet, childhood best friend. Similar to you, she was in school and college—hers both part time—and had moved to the city for cheap rent. After a rent hike, though, living on her own became impossible—so the second bedroom in your two-bedroom condo became hers. You felt _pretty_ bad every time you saw her small frame wearing multiple sweaters, but she never complained or made a fuss. 

Then had come Kenny—an unexpected arrival last month. He had been more of your brother’s friend than your own initially, but as the years passed, he slowly became more deeply folded into your friend group. You’d lost touch a tad when you started college—so it was a bit of a surprise to see him in your living room one day after coming home from work.

His parents had found out he was gay, and kicked him out of his house. Grace hadn’t hesitated—she knew she didn’t even have to ask you—before driving over, helping him grab what he could, and bringing him to your place. 

Your home was a little cramped these days, but honestly, you were pretty happy. You loved them both dearly, and—for the small amount of time that you were both awake and at home—you really enjoyed their company. 

You and Kenny alternated who used your bed—during your first sleep (after your day job), you’d take it, since he was still at work. When you came home for your second sleep (after the security gig), you’d plop down onto the large, plush couch in your living room.

If you were being honest, you kind of liked the couch more; the living room had the best space heater, and curling up by it as you shook off the cool of night always put you right to sleep.

You pulled into the small parking lot behind your building, dreaming of that space heater as you grabbed your dirty, pizza-stained shirt and got out of the car. You quickly made your way to the back entrance of the building, taking a small peek into the back windows of your place. There was a sole streetlamp that illuminated the parking area, and from it, you could see light gently pooling through the gap in the curtains into your otherwise darkened kitchen area—all was as it should be. 

Once or twice when you’d come home, Kenny had been awake and standing pensively in the kitchen—he didn’t talk about it much, but he was obviously still hurting from the incident with his parents. You were glad to know—that at least for tonight—he seemed to be sleeping soundly.

Cracking the door open, you moved into the small landing that sat before the stairwell, ready to head downstairs-

“Heya!”

You just about jumped out of your skin, looking up at the sound of the voice-

 _Fuck_.

Only _barely_ containing your grimace in time, you saw one of the other condo tenants—Russell—hanging over the railing, grinning down at you. He was a middle-aged man, a bus driver who worked odd hours that weren’t too dissimilar from yours. He often caught you coming or going—and always tried to strike up a conversation.

This in of itself wouldn’t have been too bad—you often talked to your neighbors in passing, but…

Something about Russell… unsettled you. 

At first, you thought it was just because you were illegally leasing from your brother—he was on the condo’s “board,” and had vaguely alluded to your presence being _tolerated_ and not _secure_ , should you do anything like throw parties or disrupt the general condo life. 

After a few months passed, and it was apparently deemed in his eyes that you weren’t the college-partying type—he started to get a little too… _chummy_ for your general comfort. 

It started off small—little, weird, _almost_ innocuous comments that “you must be a good Christian girl” (you were _not_ , but you didn’t correct him), or that you looked nice in your uniform, or that it was so _odd_ that a “pretty young thing like yourself” wasn’t dating anyone.

Then he started to stop by when you were home. 

It didn’t happen _too_ often, but he’d always try to talk his way inside your place—and then offer to fix something in the house, or tell you he needed to inspect something for the condo association, or…

It didn’t matter what the excuse was; while you hated to think ill of people, it was hard to ignore the feeling that, every time he looked at you, he was looking more _at_ you than at _you._

~~_You were also pretty sure it was him that you caught trying to peek through your windows that one night, but it had been too dark to be sure._ ~~

Either way, Russell was the _last_ person you wanted to deal with at three am. Still… you weren’t going to be a jerk.

“Heya, Russell,” you said, giving a small wave before starting to walk downstairs towards your door.

“Man, working hard, huh?” he said conversationally. You paused in your steps and looked up, giving him a tight smile. 

“No rest for the wicked, as they say. Have a good one!”

You waved again, pointedly, trying to ignore the sound of his chuckle as it echoed in the empty stairwell.

“I’d say you’re anything but _wicked_ , sweetie. Sweet dreams!”

You murmured some form of thanks, quickly unlocking the door and shutting it behind you. Quietly as you could, you made sure to lock both the handle _and_ the deadbolt.

Sighing in relief—glad you didn’t get stuck out there for once—you quickly unbuttoned your uniform, heading into the bathroom to change quickly. Automatically, you grabbed the PJs you had stashed in the bathroom closet, slipping them on in record time, powering through the weariness of the day that had set in your bones. You took a minute to scrub your grease-stained shirt—they were made to be stain-resistant, so hopefully a few minutes of soap and water would be enough. Hanging it up to dry over the shower rod, you padded back into the living room, flicked the heater on, and dove under the down blanket that you kept on the couch. 

Within minutes, you were asleep—ready to begin your cycle again. 

It felt like you blinked, and your alarm was going off—six thirty am.

You couldn’t recall what you dreamed that night—maybe, perhaps, of a forest? It was hard to tell if it was a nightmare. You probably didn’t sleep long enough to have a real dream, anyway. You never really did anymore; it was the sole benefit of your otherwise insane schedule.

Your schedule went like this:

Wake up at 6:30AM, leave at 7AM, travel the ~45 minutes to be at your internship for 8AM (leaving yourself 15 minutes of wiggle time for traffic). Leave your internship at 4PM, drive the ~45 minutes back to your apartment (4:45 PM), cook and eat food (5:15 PM), shower (5:30 PM), and then sleep until 8:15 PM (2 hours and 45 minutes). 

Wake up for the second time, getting ready and heading out the door by 8:30PM, driving another ~45 minutes to be at your security job by 9:30 PM (again, with that 15 minutes of wiggle time). Close up at 2:30 AM, get home by 3:15AM, fall asleep by 3:30AM, sleep until 6:30 AM (3 hours). 

Rinse and repeat until the weekend. On the weekends, you didn’t have your internship—so on Saturday and Sunday, you either had a day of rest or (more frequently now with a third person in the house), picked up two twelve hour security shifts to ensure you were covering the increase in your water and electricity bills. 

In total, it meant you were working anywhere from 65-89 hours a week. Plus, somehow, you were supposed to be getting your thesis research project together.

_Fucking grad school, man._

If you hadn’t liked your internship, you might’ve given up by now—but, thankfully, you _really_ did. 

Your internship was at Vaux Hospital, an elite psychiatric hospital that handled some of the most intense cases in the state. Most of your hours at the internship was in the intensive outpatient program—made for those who had recently completed an inpatient program, but still needed a bit of extra care, or those who were trying to prevent an inpatient stay. 

Your supervisor—a thin, bespectacled and slightly balding man named Frank—was a full time employee of this program, so you saw him on a daily basis. He was as smart as he was empathetic—always willing to take the time to sit in his tiny, paper-strewn office with you and answer questions, always gently encouraging whenever you doubted yourself—and you were certainly glad to have been paired with him.

One day a week, though, you left the shelter of the partial program to do a rotation on one of the inpatient units. 

At first, you had been a _little_ nervous—passing through those multiple security checkpoints was always a little intimidating—but, as time passed, your anxiety eased. 

It was really nice to watch people get better, and all the better to be part of that process (however small your part was). Not _everyone_ made huge bounds and strides—some had been there for a long time, and would likely stay for a longer time still—but even the smallest steps forward felt like a huge reward. 

It was that feeling that kept you going. Whatever time you had on this earth—you knew you had to give it your absolute all to help those around you.

You had been given another chance at life, and you weren’t going to waste a second of it.

...Of course, sometimes that was a _little_ hard to keep in mind so early in the morning after fighting city traffic, but—as you turned your car into the hospital’s long drive, looking at the scenery around you—you felt that spark slowly return to you under the haze of exhaustion. 

Vaux Hospital and its surrounding grounds had apparently been designed by one of the architects of central park—and the mass of greenery that encompassed all sides of the massive building showed it. In the summer, you’d been allowed to take some of the patients—those in the partial program—on a walk around the grounds, holding group by a small pond. The patients had _really_ liked that, and you couldn’t blame them; the place was beautiful.

You thought as much as you drove up the winding, curving pathways, through the beautifully cultivated greenery and to the fancifully structured architecture that was the psychiatric hospital. As per usual for early morning, a low-hanging fog was lingering around, coating the grass and walkways with a fine mist that would soon be cast dazzling by the sun. For now—while the sun was blocked by the trees of the grounds—it was a _little_ chilly, but not enough to hurry your walk as you made your way inside. 

Entering through the main entrance, you found yourself in the expansive atrium that extended several floors up. Although there was a closer entrance—specific for your partial program—you always preferred to enter this way, moving through the lush greenery they dotted around the entryway, happy to see one last bit of green before starting your day.

 _Plus_ , there was that amazing espresso stand you’d occasionally indulge in here, so… you didn’t mind the extra steps. 

Today, you settled for merely smelling the roasting beans as you walked past, your feet automatically strolling down several hallways before finding your staircase. The hospital was an incredibly old building—almost castle-like on the outside—and while the inpatient units had been refurbished to be more sterile and hospital like, the partial program had kept much of the original stonework. Your office was in the basement, so you always vaguely felt like you were heading to a castle dungeon _(in the best, this-feels-like-I’m-in-living-history sense)_.

Once inside, you got yourself prepped, and then—time for work. 

In the weirdest way, the hours at your internship flew by—but with a heaviness that simultaneously dragged every minute. You were constantly learning, learning, learning—and every moment felt so _full_. It was satisfying, but by the end of the day, your head throbbed as you tried to process and reprocess the events of the day.

Frank was always there to make sure you weren’t fucking up too badly, but… you wanted to make sure you were doing your absolute _best_ you could. Per usual, as you drove home, you analyzed every last bit of interaction as much as you could, making mental notes of what you’d like to talk to Frank about the next time you had a formal supervision session.

You didn’t shut your brain off until you pulled back into the tiny parking lot behind your home. Once inside, you went through the chores of eating, and showering, and ironing out your uniform—before, finally, it was time for blessed sleep.

_Time to finish the cycle. Hard part of your day is over; the rest will be a cakewalk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is more of a scene-setting chapter, without much interaction between the reader and sans. This was my exact schedule when I was in grad school, and writing it all down feels… woof. I hope I’ll never have to do that again in my life. Or live back in “the flint.” Or see “Russell.” 
> 
> I *do* live with Grace, still, though (which, if you read my other story, you’ll be familiar with Grace! She’s back!)
> 
> Just a note: although this story involves some horror/spooky elements, and some of those elements may take place at the hospital, the patients themselves will never be portrayed as a source of horror. Those with a psychosis have an incredibly unfair and stigmatizing portrayal in horror media, and we’ll have no perpetuation of that bullhonky here, thank you very much. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and showed interest; I generally focus on fics that have the most interest on them, but some of the comments were so especially sweet I bumped this one up for yall! <3 So sincerely, thank you, because they really made my day. Hope this chapter wasn't too boring for you guys; I promise, more sans/reader action next time around!


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